


Remember My Name

by Karuka_Ikashi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karuka_Ikashi/pseuds/Karuka_Ikashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lovino Vargas is used to people not believing he’s really a country…until he meets the one person who does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember My Name

##  [Remember My Name](http://karuka-ikashi.deviantart.com/art/Remember-My-Name-554967610)

 

“Okay, if everyone’s ready to begin, we’re going to go around in a circle and introduce ourselves.”  
  
I’m supposed to say my name is Lovino Vargas. I’ve been part of this group therapy session for three months now. If you ask anyone outside, most people will tell you that I’m a pretty average guy…but no one who comes here is normal. Most of them must just be on something, I think. I mean, if people are seeing unicorns and faeries like half of these guys do, why can’t they just keep it to themselves? Well, I get it. Not everyone’s good at being quiet about that shit. I guess it wouldn’t be such a big deal if they weren’t trying to like, ride dragons into traffic or yell at their “imaginary friends” in public when other people are around. Still, I wonder how many of them are actually forced to come to this thing like I am.  
  
“Sir? Your name?  
  
“Roma- I mean...Lovino Vargas.”  
  
“Well done, Lovino!”  
  
I want to kill someone. They all treat me like I’m batshit crazy here, but I know I’m not. They just don’t know what it’s like- to realize you’re someone else or that you used to be someone else a long time ago. They think that it’s all in my head. The first time I told them I was South Italy, half of the damn group laughed at me. I was so mad, I started cursing at them in Italian…a language I’m not supposed to know. I was born in the States; no one’s spoken Italian since my nonna immigrated decades ago...but part of me knows I used to be Italian, I mean, a REAL Italian, not just by family name. No one here gets that, though. They just treat me like I’m some special nutcase, and that just makes me hate them even more.  
  
This session doesn’t go any better than the others. Once it’s my turn to speak, they start asking me about how I see myself, about who I think I am. I tell them the truth- I’m Romano, grandson of the Roman Empire, and my brother is Veneciano, the northern half of Italy. When they remind me I don’t have a brother, I lose my temper, telling them I don’t know where damn bastard is- probably hanging around Germany, who he’s so damn friendly with. Our counselor tries to calm me down, to tell me I’m not being attacked, but fuck, I’m so frustrated that I get up and try to leave.  
  
They don’t let me out right away, but when they do, it isn’t soon enough. I already feel like I’m going to pull out all of my hair. I just want to go home. Too bad that’s not an option. This is a mental hospital, and I’m stuck here until my therapist decides otherwise. I just hope they don’t send me home with any more damn pills.  
  
Later that night, I’m eating dinner in the common area. I usually pick a spot as far away from everyone else as I can. Tonight, however, some loser decides he wants to sit with me. I try to throw him a look, to tell him to get lost, but he just gives me a shiteating grin and plops down on the other side of the table as if I invited him there. The guy’s kinda weird-looking...pale silver hair, reddish eyes- I’ve never seen anyone like him. Then again, something about him seems disturbingly familiar.  
  
“What do you want?” I growl at him, gritting my teeth.  
  
“Can’t a guy share your table?” he snickers back. “Come on, don’t be like that. My name’s Gilbert.”  
  
“Get lost,” I tell him.  
  
“Or what?” he taunts. “Gonna sic your Italian army on me? Get Germany to put me in my place?”  
  
I almost hit him. Instead, I just give him the most threatening death glare I can muster.  
  
“Whoa, calm down,” Gilbert says. “Believe it or not, I actually believe who you are...Romano.”  
  
My expression stays cold as I stare at him skeptically.  
  
“Lying bastard...I’m not going to sit here and let you make fun of me, dammit.”  
  
“I’m not! I get it! I mean...I know who you are because I’ve met you before. You know me.”  
  
I frown at him, staring long and hard.  
  
“...I don’t.”  
  
“You do. Think long and hard, Schatz.”  
  
My frown turns into a glare again.  
  
“Don’t call me that.”  
  
“What? Bet you don’t even know what it means.”  
  
“I know I don’t like it.”  
  
“You did once.”  
  
“SHUT UP!”  
  
I slam my fists on the table and a staff member comes to take me away. I throw Gilbert a glare before I leave, warning him to stay away from me in the future. The grin he gives back tells me he doesn’t intend to.  
  
That night, I have a really strange dream. I’m loading boxes for my boss, annoyed at all the work I have to do. What’s worse is that while I’m doing all this, I know that my brother is hanging around with Germany, probably being a lazy ass and having his idea of a good time. Doesn’t the idiot know there’s a war going on? Then, out of nowhere, comes Gilbert. He’s leaning against some of the crates and watching me. In the dream, I don’t think anything strange of his presence, though. It’s like the scene at dinner never even happened.  
  
“Really working hard, aren’t you, Schatz?”  
  
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me?” I ask him.  
  
“Alright, I’ll lend a hand. Just for you.”  
  
We keep moving the boxes together. He helps me carry the heavier ones, each of us holding onto one side. When we finish, he sits down next to me and leans against my shoulder.  
  
“When all the fighting’s done...We’ll have to find another excuse to see each other,” he tells me.  
  
“What are you talking about?” I ask him tiredly. “Just come over to my place whenever you want, bastard.”  
  
Gilbert shakes his head.  
  
“Boss wouldn’t like that. He keeps acting like I’m just going to...disappear. Guess it makes sense. S’not like I have a country to call my own anymore.”  
  
“Don’t say that,” I grumble with a frown. “I’m still here even though Vene took over everything for us. You’re not going anywhere.”  
  
“But you still have a name. Pretty soon too many humans won’t even know mine.”  
  
“Prussia…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“PRUSSIA!” I suddenly scream and bolt awake. I’m in my hospital bed and sweating like crazy. My heart’s pounding like a drum in my chest, and my throat is tight like all the words are caught inside it. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him! I can’t believe I forgot his name. Guilt and anger sweep over me, and I’m not sure what to do with the sudden emotions except scream. I shout his name. Then I do it again. If the orderlies thought I was insane before, well, now they’re never going to be convinced otherwise. Then, after much of the frustration’s been released, I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of relief. Fuck, I found him.  
  
  
  
When they finally unlock my door, I know exactly where I want to go. They let me into the common area, and I spot him right away. He perks up as soon as he sees me and grins, though I can see in his eyes that he’s still wondering how I’m going to react to him after yesterday. Part of me still wants to hit him, but for a different reason than before. Even if the bastard took this long to find me, though, at least he’s still here.  
  
I approach him and cross my arms, staring at him with a furrowed brow. I want to be sure I’m right before I go making a spectacle of myself. This place has started to make me doubt almost everything I believe in. Gilbert seems more cautious now, too. He finally drops the grin and cocks his head at me, giving me a questioning look.  
  
“Well? Did you remember?”  
  
“You...you’re not really pulling my leg, are you?” I mutter. “Because if this is a joke…”  
  
“It’s not,” he answers, his face more serious now, “but I have to hear hear you say it for yourself. Who am I?”  
  
I stare at him for a long while and can see him grow more anxious. He really must be waiting for it...dreading the worst.  
  
“Prussia.”  
  
His breath hitches. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Then a chuckle, which makes my stomach twist because  _fuck him if it’s the wrong answer and he’s laughing at me!_  I clench my fists, ready to scream at him, but suddenly his laughs turn into choking noises and then the bastard is  _crying_  in front of me.  
  
I groan, thinking maybe I should have just stayed away from him. I might get mad easy, but I don’t like feeling like a jerk. I’m about to walk away when a small smile spreads over his lips, and he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand before looking up at me with nothing but relief on his face.  
  
“I thought...you’d forgotten about me.”  
  
My heart starts beating fast again, and I’m full of conflicting emotions. Before I know what I’m doing, I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. Shit, his tears are contagious.  
  
“I can’t forget such an obnoxious asshole...Fuck you for not telling me sooner.”  
  
“I had to hear you say it. Had to know it was real.”  
  
“Convinced now, bastard?”  
  
“Yeah. Damn, I missed you…”  
  
We stay like that for a long time, hugging, crying, like a pair of old saps. No one else really gets it. I really don’t fucking care. To them, we’re just two crazy bastards who think we somehow met each other in another life, who knew each other long before coming here. They can believe we’re as nuts as they want. Maybe getting locked up in this place wasn’t so bad if it meant I could finally meet him again. This was the place where our paths finally crossed. Maybe when they let us out, we can start a new life together, pick up where we left off. ‘Cause even if the world doesn’t remember our names...at least we know we belong together.  
  
                                                                                                                          
                                                                              **The End**


End file.
